by Luke Sharpe
Does that ever happen to you, where you feel two emotions at once? It’s very complicated. How can you be happy and nervous at the same time? I don’t know the answer to that, but I guess it’s better than feeling happy and nauseated at the same time. Nervous and nauseated would be really terrible. I’m not so nervous that I feel nauseated, but I’m pretty close.
Why am I so nervous, you might be wondering? Tomorrow I start seventh grade. I’m a tiny bit nervous about that. But that’s not it.
I have a secret about the All Ball that nobody knows, not even Manny.
And that secret has me feeling really nervous.
Seventh Grade Begins
ALL SUMMER I FIGURED THAT things would be a little different when school started, but as soon as I walk into the building, I realize just how different.
Some kids stare at me. Some point. Some act like they aren’t looking at me, but their eyes dart in my direction. I hear kids whispering, “That’s him!”
One tall guy I don’t know yells, “Hey, Sure! Can I borrow a million dollars? ” His friends laugh.
It is really weird. In sixth grade, Manny and I were just regular kids, floating under the radar, trying not to get stuffed into lockers by the older kids. But now under the radar is totally over.
I find my locker and spin the lock, when a group of girls comes up to me. “You’re Billy Sure? ” one of them asks. I know her name. It’s Allison. She was in my math class last year.
I nod my head.
“We saw you on that show,” Allison says.
“Oh, great,” I respond, not knowing what else to say.
“What’s he like? ” another girl asks a little breathlessly.
“Who? ” I ask. “Chris Fernell? He’s really nice.”
The girl rolls her eyes. “No, not him. Dustin.”
“Um, he seemed nice,” I say, trying to remember something interesting about Dustin Peeler. “He gave my sister a soda.”
The girls squeal with delight. “That is so Dustin!” Allison shrieks. “He cares so much!”
“If Dustin Peeler gave me a soda, I think I’d just die right on the spot,” another girl says.
“And I’d never drink it,” another adds. “I’d just keep it forever.”
“It’d go flat,” I say. “And it might get moldy.”
The girls laugh like this is the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.
“He’s cute,” one of the girls whispers to her friends. “Almost as cute as Dustin.” Then all the girls erupt into giggles.
Well, that’s a first for me. I’ve never been called cute by a girl before. Except my mom, and she doesn’t really count. I can feel my cheeks tingling and I know I’m blushing.
Lucky for me, the bell rings. Brrrring! The girls hurry off. “See you, Billy!” they call back to me as they go.
I round the corner to my homeroom before the second bell rings. It isn’t hard to find, because there is a colorful banner hanging over the door that reads WELCOME, BILLY SURE!
Have you ever wished that the floor could open up and swallow you, because you’re so embarrassed? Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel.
But the floor is not cooperating today, so I have no choice but to go to homeroom. It seems like everyone had been waiting for me to get here. When I walk in, a kid shouts, “He’s here!” And then everyone starts clapping. I even hear someone whistle. I think it’s Peter MacHale. He has a huge space between his two front teeth that he always tries to use to his advantage. You should see what he can do with bendy straws. My homeroom teacher, Mrs. Welch, smiles. “Congratulations on all your success over the summer, Billy! And welcome to my class!”
“Um, thanks,” I mumble, and then I find a seat in the back of the room, wishing the whole time that Manny was in my homeroom. He would know how to handle this. But unfortunately we’re in different homerooms this year. We don’t even have any classes together. At least I have lunch to look forward to.
“Before we get started,” Mrs. Welch says after I sit down, “I know we’re all curious about the incredible summer Billy has had. Perhaps he’d like to tell us a little bit about his adventures as an inventor and a businessperson.”
She smiles again and raises her eyebrows. Kids twist around in their seats, waiting for me to say something.
“Um, it’s been pretty amazing,” I say, because I can tell she wouldn’t be happy if I said what I was thinking, which is, No, thanks, I’m good just sitting here. Mrs. Welch bobs her head up and down, and I realize I’m expected to say more. “Um, it’s all kind of a jumble in my head. Maybe I could think about it and tell you some stuff later. Like, in a week or two. Or maybe a month.”
Mrs. Welch looks a little disappointed, but she doesn’t lose the smile. “That sounds fine, Billy.” Not wanting to miss a potential teaching moment, she adds, “Preparation is a vital part of public speaking.”
I hope that Mrs. Welch will be the only teacher who knows about the All Ball. Or at least the only teacher who makes a big deal out of it.
If only I could be that lucky. My first period is science, and it becomes clear pretty quickly that the teacher, Mr. Palnacchio, wants to talk about the All Ball too. We’re barely settled into our seats when he tells us that we’re going to start off the year with a unit on inventions. At first I think, Cool, I should do really well on this unit. And then as he talks more, I realize exactly what that means. “The very essence of science is curiosity. Discovery. Invention. But it’s challenging. It takes a lot of hard work. So it’s not often that you get to meet a successful inventor face to face,” Mr. Palnacchio says dramatically, beaming at me.
UH-OH.
“But we’re lucky today, class, because we have an extremely successful inventor right here in our own little science lab—Billy Sure!” He gestures toward me with an open palm, and I realize that, once again, I am expected to say something. But this time my mind goes completely blank. So I do the only thing I can think of: I duck my head down and pretend to be really interested in some graffiti on my desk. After a few awkward moments of silence, Mr. Palnacchio seems to take the hint. “Well, more on that later, right, Billy? ” he booms. “I have an idea I’ll discuss with you right after class.”
When the bell rings at the end of the period, I jump up to hurry to my next class, hoping Mr. Palnacchio forgot that he said he wanted to talk to me. But no such luck. He intercepts me at the door. “I was thinking we could plan the semester around an investigation of the All Ball and how it works. We could cover mechanics, physics, even the chemistry of the materials and how they change! The students would love it! And for coteaching the class with me, you’d get lots of extra credit! What do you think, Billy? ”
Think of a nice way to say no, I tell my brain. “It’s an interesting idea, Mr. Palnacchio,” I say slowly. “And you’re right; there’s some cool science behind the invention of the All Ball. . . .”
I take a breath. Mr. Palnacchio seems to be hanging on my every word, and the look on his face reminds me of the look my dog, Philo, gets on his face when he sees me reach into his treats jar. You need to get to the “no” part, I remind my brain.
“. . . But I’m afraid the ball-morphing technology is patented, proprietary, and top secret,” I say, thankful once again for Manny and his great ideas. “If I teach the class how it works, I’d get in a lot of trouble with the lawyers. And my business partner.”
Mr. Palnacchio’s face falls, and he nods. “Yes, that makes sense. I understand that you can’t reveal your secrets.” Then he brightens. “But think about it! I’m sure there’s a way you could teach some of the general principles you’ve mastered without giving any secrets away!”
“Okay, Mr. Palnacchio. I will think about it,” I promise, but not because I really want to. Right now I just want to leave. “Can I get to my next class now? ”
As I jog down the hallway, I see a kid at the other end of the hall coming straight toward me. He locks ey
es with me.
He’s a big kid. A really big kid.
I think about turning around and going the other way, but the huge guy is already right in front of me. With those long legs, the entire hallway is only about three steps for him.
“You Billy Sure? ” he snarls.
I consider making up a fake name on the spot, like McCallister Snifferton.
I look around for help. The hall is empty. Where is everyone?
“Yeah,” I admit. “I’m Billy Sure.”
“The guy that invented the All Ball? ” he growls in his low, bearlike voice.
I nod, wondering if I will be able to block his punches with my backpack.
Maybe this bully is a mind reader, because right then he reaches into his backpack. What is he going to pull out? A rock? A club? Nunchucks?
No. He pulls out an All Ball.
“Would you mind signing this for me? ” he asks.
A wave of relief washes over me. “Of course not!” I squeak as I pull a pen out of my pocket. “Who should I make it out to? ”
“Dudley. Dudley Dillworthy,” he says.
He takes his signed All Ball and runs off to class.
By the time I get to lunch, I am wishing I’d asked Dudley to be my bodyguard. In the cafeteria, kids mob around me and Manny, asking us to sit with them. The table we end up at is so crowded, there is barely any room to sit. I have never felt so much pressure eating before. With everyone staring at me, I have to be careful with every bite. I’m usually the last one to know when I have mustard on my nose or poppy seeds in my teeth. As a best friend, it’s Manny’s job to tell me these things, but he never notices. Right now he’s huddled over his phone, probably making some new business deal for the All Ball.
“Hey, Sure,” one of the boys at my table blurts out. His name is Jeff. I look down at my shirt, thinking that Jeff is going to tell me that I’m wearing some applesauce.
“How much money do you have? ” Jeff asks.
A hush comes over the cafeteria as everyone waits for my answer, even the cafeteria ladies. I see one of them pause with a big ladle in her hand, waiting until after I speak to finish slopping soup in a bowl.
“I don’t really know,” I admit. “For now, most of the money goes right back into the company. When a company’s new, there are lots of expenses. My parents are handling any money that comes to me, putting it in a bank account for college.”
I hear sighs. I see frowns. Nobody likes this answer. It’s boring, but it’s the truth.
“But I heard you carry, like, a thousand bucks in your wallet,” Jeff claims.
“I heard ten thousand,” shouts someone else.
I shake my head. “I don’t think a thousand bucks would fit in my wallet. I don’t really know. I’ve never seen a thousand dollars.”
Then everyone in the cafeteria starts arguing about whether a thousand dollars would fit in a wallet, and whether there is a one-thousand-dollar bill. A sixth grader boasts that she held one in her hands, and then her friends tell her that she’s a big liar. Which is good, because it takes the attention away from me for a couple of minutes.
I finish my lunch as fast as I can and get out of there.
In English the teacher assigns an essay on “WHAT I INVENTED THIS SUMMER.” In social studies the teacher suggests we discuss “the economics of sports, especially new sports technologies.” In gym the teacher pulls me aside and asks if Sure Things, Inc. could donate a bunch of All Balls to the school. “It’d really help us out,” he pleads. “The budget cuts have been brutal! When we need new nets for the basketball hoops, my wife has to knit them!”
Late that afternoon there’s an announcement. “Will Billy Sure please report to the principal’s office? ”
Why do they always summon you to the principal’s office in the form of a question? Are you allowed to say no? Sorry, but I really can’t come to the principal’s office right now. Or ever.
I reluctantly trudge down to the office. I wonder what I did wrong. Am I going to be suspended for disrupting classes with my fame? Given detention for inspiring the teachers to give us crazy assignments?
When I walk in, the secretary behind the counter smiles at me and says, “Hi, Billy. Mr. Gilamon is waiting for you.”
It seems like a good sign that the secretary smiled at me, right? I mean, would she smile at a kid who was about to get detention? Unless that’s part of her job. Maybe they tell her she has to smile at everyone who comes in, even the kids who are in REALLY BIG TROUBLE.
But when I enter Mr. Gilamon’s office, he shoots up out of his chair, steps around his desk, and shakes my hand, smiling broadly. “Billy Sure! Congratulations on your success! Well done!”
“Thanks,” I mumble. “Um, am I in trouble? ”
Mr. Gilamon gives a big hearty laugh. “No! Just the opposite! From what I hear, you’re in the catbird’s seat!”
I have no idea what that means, but as long as it doesn’t mean “detention,” I’m okay with it.
Motioning for me to have a seat (not a catbird’s, just a regular seat), the principal sits back down in his big chair. “Billy, I think what you’ve done, inventing the, uh . . . what’s it called? ”
“The All Ball.”
“Right! The All Ball! Inventing the All Ball, and starting your own company, and having so much success, is incredibly inspirational. It’s just the kind of thing we need here at Fillmore Middle School to inspire our students. And future students! Just think, someday students will say, ‘Billy Sure went to my school!’ ”
I hadn’t thought of that. That is pretty cool.
Mr. Gilamon makes a little tent with his fingers. “I want to make sure every student in this school is aware of your inspiring achievement. It could spark a tidal wave of excellence!”
I’m not sure how a tidal wave could start with a spark, but I don’t point that out to the principal.
“Now, Billy, let me ask you something,” he continues. “When’s your birthday? ”
I didn’t see that coming. Does he want to buy me a present?
“March twenty-eighth,” I reply. “Why? ” I suddenly think of something horrible. “You’re not going to make me skip a grade, are you? Because I really don’t want to.”
He laughs his booming laugh again. “No, no! I just had an idea that we’d make your birthday a special holiday here at Fillmore Middle School.”
“You mean we’d get the day off? ” I ask. That’d be pretty sweet. Everyone would love me for that.
“Uh, no, not that kind of holiday,” he says quickly.
What’s the point of having a holiday if you can’t get a day off from school for it?
“This would be a celebration of your birthday, honoring your achievement and inspiring other kids to reach for their own dreams!” he says enthusiastically. He looks up at the calendar on his wall, which has a picture of a guy climbing a mountain, and adds “Do what you’ve always dreamed of doing.” That makes me think of swinging so high that I loop around the swing set. I’ve dreamed of doing that since kindergarten. I’ve never even gotten close. It might not be possible, but I’ll keep trying until I’m too big to sit on a swing.
I look up at Mr. Gilamon. He’s still talking. “But March is a long way off. I was hoping we could inspire the students right at the beginning of the school year. You wouldn’t consider changing your birthday, would you? ”
I don’t know what to say, so I open my mouth. Maybe something will come out and surprise me. I make an “uh” sound. Principal Gilamon laughs as though I’d made the most hilarious joke he’d ever heard.
“Well, maybe we could have a celebration that wasn’t actually on your birthday,” he says. “BILLY SURE DAY!”
I don’t think I really needed more attention at school. “How about just calling it Invention Day? ” I suggest. “Or Achievement Day? Or Reach For Your Dreams Day? ”
&n
bsp; Mr. Gilamon grabs a pad and a pen and starts writing furiously. “Those are all great suggestions!” he says. “Billy, you’re full of ideas! No wonder you’re so successful!”
When the last bell of the day rings, I launch out of my seat so fast that my math teacher gives me a look. I smile apologetically as I bolt out the door. The first day of seventh grade has been really strange, but at least it’s over.
“So, how was the rest of your day? ” Manny asks as we head out the door together.
I shrug. Where do I even start?
Manny smiles. “You can tell me all about it at the office.”
The Office
THE OFFICE OF SURE THINGS, Inc. isn’t in some tall building downtown. It’s the garage at Manny’s house. His parents generously let us take it over to use as the headquarters of Sure Things, Inc.
Maybe Manny’s parents are willing to park their cars on the street because Manny’s an only child. He gets away with a lot more than I do. Plus he doesn’t have to deal with Emily. On some days, I really envy him. Make that most days.
It used to be just a regular garage—car smell, oil stains on the floor, dark—but since the All Ball took off, we’ve made a lot of changes. Sure, there’s normal office stuff, which is kinda boring, but I think Manny really likes what he picked out for chairs, lamps, and computers. But what I love about the office are the extras. It’s the kind of hideout I always dreamed of having, and now I have it, which is pretty cool.
There’s a state-of-the-art soda machine with a digital display that lets you mix custom flavors. Manny once calculated how many possible flavors there are. I forget the exact total he came up with, but I’m pretty sure it was in the millions. Although most of the combinations are things you’d probably never want to drink, like PICKLE-GRAPE-BANANA-COLA. Actually, now that I think about it, I kind of want to taste that flavor. Remember to try that flavor sometime, I tell my brain. The machine even has a mystery flavor. We still haven’t figured out what it is.